


The Professor's Secret Santa

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Series: The Professors [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Lemons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: Secret Santa was always a daunting thought, one made worse when Hermione picks Severus Snape's name from the Sorting Hat. She has no other choice but to get to know her former professor - now colleague -in time to buy him the perfect Christmas gift.





	1. The Sorting Hat

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **This is part of my series called The Professors. Severus teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts because there is no way he was willing to come back to Hogwarts after everything that had happened and not be trusted to take on the post. He put his foot down on that note. Hermione teaches Transfiguration and Pomona Sprout is Deputy Headmistress.**  
> 

Severus rolled over with a disgruntled groan. The cold air had crept beneath his chamber doors and slithered into his joints. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he allowed the chill to wake him before untangling from the warm nest of blankets, and into an even colder bathroom. The mirror above the sink had long ago been silenced, but he could tell it was itching to scold his weary appearance from the way the loose screw vibrated as it tried to break through his hex. Feeling smug at his success, he shot his reflection a satisfied smirk and turned away to pull a heated towel from the wicker basket.

A warm shower soothed his ragged, war-torn body, and he eventually slipped through his rooms and into the chilly castle corridors. The third floor, his new home now that he had acquired the long sought after DADA position, was a warmer sight than the dungeons during winter time, and his knees thanked him time again for the shorter walk to the Great Hall. 

It was the first whiff of Christmas that soured his mood. A fresh wave of pine hit his nose the moment he stepped from the main staircase, and true to his suspicions, Hagrid was lugging a giant tree across the entrance hall. Time had not softened Severus Snape’s soul. He was still irritable and desperately unsociable; the damage to his reputation after Dumbledore’s death - murder, he crudely reminded himself when his thoughts dared slip that far into the past – had never entirely escaped people’s notice. The Ministry had pardoned him, sure, but only after highlighting his war crimes, and bringing to light his dodgy former years during the first war. Rita Skeeter had had a field day. 

Still, he reminded himself that being alive brought some gratification; he got to hang around under Minerva’s nose for another few decades at least. They were friendly – even friends – but he knew that she could never really forgive him for killing Albus, her best friend. He strode past the bare tree, knowing that later tonight the castle would be twinkling like a fireworks display and that he’d be brushing shredded tinsel from his heels for weeks to come. 

The hall buzzed with excitement as students eagerly awaited the holidays and getting to go home for a short break; the staff celebrated this forthcoming too. He took his seat – to Minerva’s left – and looked disapprovingly over his shoulder at the already erected giant pine tree behind their seats. 

“You look offended, Severus,” said Minerva without looking up from her plate. 

“Did you notice?” he scowled, pointedly pushing a pine cone away from his plate. “Albus didn’t even begin this early. Is that a Christmas cracker at Hagrid’s seat?” 

“I think you’ll appreciate tomorrow mornings staff meeting then,” she told him and turned with a smug smile to greet the deputy headmistress good morning. 

 

\-----

 

Hermione was pleased to find her favourite seat empty when she arrived at the staff room. There was a casual murmur of conversation around the table, and she greeted each professor like old friends, though she supposed they almost were; having known her since she was eleven, and then warmly greeting her onto the staff as transfiguration professor last year. Back to Hogwarts was not where Hermione had envisioned herself. She’d done a brief stint in the Ministry after her N.E.W.T.S; mostly playing around and trying to find somewhere to fit in, but she never found solace in the ins and outs of Government life. So it was back to the old castle where she slotted happily into her mentors old position and didn’t regret a day since. She accepted a cup of tea from Pomona Sprout with a warm thank you and settled back to await the headmistress’ presence.

The staff room door wasn’t long banging open, and for a man who used to be a spy, Snape thundered blatantly into the room with his usual stony glower. His imposing figure hadn’t changed a day since her time as a student; he was all black robes, stiff postured and stone-faced. In her short time as a professor, Hermione had learned to keep their conversation short, sweet, and to the point. They rarely came into contact outside of meetings and dining; he didn’t acknowledge her presence in the corridor, which to begin with had frustrated her because they worked on the same floor at least five times a week. Now, she had learned to accept his snark and bark as nothing more than him being a bitter bastard. 

_I guess cheating death doesn’t sweeten everyone up._

The headmistress followed behind Snape, closing the door with a reproving glower of her own, and turned to greet them all. “Thank you for being here on your day off,” she said pointedly, and Hermione watched Snape’s eyes narrow in response. “As you are all aware, the festive season is fast approaching, and that means it’s time to organise our Secret Santa.”

Hermione caught her groan just in time. Secret Santa had always been the bane of her existence; she was exceptionally good at buying presents for people that she knew, but certainly not for people almost three times her age, and who all knew each other much better than she ever could. Last year she’d picked Hagrid, and after much rooting around had managed to find an old photograph of him with herself, Harry and Ron. 

“So, as is tradition, we choose names from the sorting hat, and as always, the youngest gets first pick,” she announced fondly, holding the aged old hat across the table toward Hermione. 

With a forced smile, she reached into the hat and plucked out a piece of parchment, pleading with any forces that were present to please not give her Trelawney, or the brutish Professor Farlan who’d made a pass at her after one too many flutes of wine during the Halloween feast. 

“I needn’t remind you all that secret Santa is anonymous and _obligatory_ ,” Minerva enunciated pointedly as she rounded on Snape’s callous scowl. 

Snape’s face didn’t have a forced smile, only an offended look. Hermione was sure his offence wasn’t down to Minerva’s words and was instead directed to the task at hand. He plucked a piece of parchment from the hat, and she was sure he had crumpled it in his hand before stuffing it into his pocket. Which pocket was a mystery; his robe concealed most of his attire, but the wardrobe hadn’t changed much since her school days. She rarely saw Snape out of his teaching robes, save for once or twice in the warmer months when he’d attend staff meetings in just his frock coat. The collar was always adjusted so far up his neck that he seemed to constantly look down his nose at people, and she realised after stupidly forgetting, that his scars were hidden somewhere beneath the material. 

“Please keep an eye on the notice board over the next day or so as Pomona will be posting the Hogsmeade chaperones list,” said Minerva, tucking the hat under her arm when everyone had chosen a name, and perching on her own chair. “Also, we’re still undecided about the date of the staff party, so if anyone has any ideas do jot them on the board and we’ll decide next week. Otherwise, you’re free to go about your weekend.”

Hermione was sure she heard Snape mutter ‘here, here’, as he slipped out of the staffroom in a flurry of robes. _Hardly._ It wasn’t until she had finished breakfast and retired to her office, that Hermione unfolded the slip of parchment and groaned up at the ceiling. 

Her Secret Santa was Snape.


	2. It's Blue

“Ginny, you’re blooming,” awed Hermione when she tumbled out of the floo to greet her friend. 

“Blooming isn’t how I’d describe it. To be honest, it’s more like bursting at the seams,” she joked with a tired puff while adjusting the youngest Potter who was wrapped around her hip. “Can you take him for a few minutes? He’s got a cold and he’s been clingy since Harry left this morning.” 

Hermione plucked the small, dark-haired boy from his mother and shifted him across her own hip, placating his fussing with a candy cane she’d carried in her back pocket. “You didn’t get a look in, Gin,” she mused, brushing Albus Severus Potter’s lank fringe from his face. “He’s all Harry these days. Where is he anyway?”

Ginny signaled her towards the kitchen where she scavenged two cups from a cardboard box and dusted them off. “He’s been called in on an emergency, something to do with a bunch of dark artifacts that surfaced after a raid. Honestly, you’d think they could manage by themselves now considering everything we’ve got going on here.”

Hermione took the cups single-handedly from Ginny and nudged her into the kitchen chair with a sympathetic smile. “I think I can manage two cups of tea,” she said, summoning milk and sugar from the fridge, and settled about making some sweet tea for them both. “At least Harry will have paternity leave when baby arrives. You can put your feet up and let him take over.” She passed a cup across the table and readjusting Albus, gratefully sipped her own tea. 

“Mum’s been great of course,” said Ginny. “She packed away the boy’s rooms last night because Harry came home late again. She’s got James over at the Burrow while I finish the last of the boxes. Then we can move out of this dump and into something more spacious.”

“I wish I could be here to help you, Gin,” she said softly, noting the look of irritation on her friends face. It was true that she had seen less of her friends since Hogwarts, something she hated to admit after how close they had all been. She wasn't sure how many people fought and won a war then all fell out. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be.”

Ginny brushed her comment off with a hand wave and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione,” she said, sipping her tea again, and with a nod of her head signaled to her youngest son fondly. “You’ve done plenty in fifteen minutes after getting that one to sleep.” The small boy’s head was nestled into Hermione’s bushy hair and she fought the urge to remove his snotty nose from her threshes. Having children was never top of Hermione's list, she much preferred being able to hand them back at the end of the day, though she couldn't deny the kindling broodiness that appeared when she cradled the Potter children. “How are things at Hogwarts anyway?” asked Ginny. “I heard Neville’s been talking to Professor Sprout about visiting the greenhouses.”

Hermione spent the next while keeping her friend up to date on the goings-on of the magical castle and all of its inhabitants. They’d positively howled at Hermione’s recount of Professor Farlan’s attempts to win her over, and Ginny took great pleasure in making her blush at the what could have been’s. Eventually, they rounded on the topic Hermione was eager to discuss most – Snape. More pointedly, what the hell she was supposed to buy the man for Christmas. 

“A sense of humour?” suggested Ginny. 

Hermione smiled. Ginny had never completely warmed to Snape, but then again who did? She had respected his position in the war enough to agree with Harry to name one of her children after the man, but there was no further desire on her part to want a relationship with the former potions professor. It was a decision Harry had made with much thought, one evening over a pint in the Leaky Cauldron. He'd apparated to Hogwarts shortly after but had never recounted how his confrontation with Snape had gone. 

“I could probably whip up a bottle of giggle water,” she mused, almost giving the idea serious thought, before considering he’d probably think she was trying to poison him. She also ignored Ginny’s crude comments about getting Farlan to whip up the giggle water for her. “I mean, Hagrid was easy last year because I know Hagrid, but Snape is just... difficult.” She threw her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “He hardly ever attends staff parties unless McGonagall forces him, and even at that, he manages to sneak away after an hour. So, I’ve never actually had a conversation with him, you see.”

“Mum always says you can’t go wrong with a nice candle, something that smells homely,” shrugged Ginny. “But what’s homely to Snape?”

“I don’t know if I can capture the scent of isolation and sarcasm, Gin. Although, sometimes he smells sharp, like when he comes to dinner,” she remembered, thinking of the occasional time she’d sat next to him, and his scent had come to her attention. 

“He smells sharp?” pronounced Ginny with a raised eyebrow. “ _Sharp_.”

Hermione shook her head. “Like...clean kind of sharp. Soap and sterile, I think.” She laughed at her own comment and drained her tea. “I don’t know what he smells like, just sharp, and anyway, I don’t think he’s the candle type of guy.”

“I don’t think he’s the anything type of guy, Hermione,” said Ginny. “No one really knows Snape, do they? Not even me and my son is named after the man. You’d think someone would get to know a person after that kind of commitment.”

Hermione raised her own brow in amusement. “Are you saying you want to get to know Snape better?”

Ginny barked a laugh. “You’re the one who knows what he smells like, Hermione.”

They nattered on for another hour or so, settling Albus on the couch, and Hermione helped pack away the last few toys. She left Ginny with a hug and promised to keep her updated on the search for Snape’s Secret Santa, before flooing back to her office and settling down for the evening to grade the last of the first year’s homework. 

 

\--------

 

By the time dinner had finished, and she’d closed her office for the night, Hermione was sick to death of correcting essays, and thoroughly feeling like a failure. Her third years were still struggling with the theory of switching spells, not to mention Imelda Truants dismal attempt at turning a teapot into a tortoise. Hermione had to quickly cover the mutant looking creature with a cloth and half wondered if Hagrid would appreciate its peculiarity, before switching it back into a rusty old teapot. 

The fire in her rooms quickly sparked when she returned, and she tossed her teaching robe over the back of the couch, before glancing around her private space. It was everything she could have wanted and everything she loved. A neat assortment of shelves with her old school texts lined in a row, some manuscripts she’d acquired during her studies at the Ministry and a little jumble of books she’d checked out of the library. There was a neat, mahogany desk underneath the large window, with a well cared for lavender plant and a collection of quills in a pot. Her mantelpiece held an assortment of treasured photographs, all smiling at her, and a collection of knick-knacks were scattered in between each frame. 

As she settled to making tea in the small kitchenette off the living room, a crack of magic made her jump, and she turned to find a wrinkly house elf with a tartan tea towel wrapped around his waist and a drooping red hat on his bald head. Hermione still frowned upon the work of the house elves, often preferring to clean her rooms rather than allow them to; but there were times when she appreciated not having to hand wash her delicate robes and happily left them in the hamper to be cared for. 

“Hello, Trinket,” she greeted him. “Are you having a good Christmas?”

Trinket nodded enthusiastically, the hat drooping to cover his eyes. “Oh yes, Professor. Trinket is loving the decorations all over the castle.” He snapped his fingers and a small cardboard box appeared alongside Hermione with a crack. “Trinket is bringing Professor Granger some decorations to make her rooms look festive too.”

Hermione inspected the box with humor and then eyed her loveable, yet, and it nearly pained her to admit so, boring rooms. “I guess I could add a bit of colour,” she agreed, noting the plain browns and yellows that splashed her cupboards and shelves. Her old tartan couch was definitely the doing of McGonagall’s time spent in this part of the castle. 

She unpacked the box, shaking her head at the tacky gold tinsel and the noisy bells that she knew would keep her awake if a breeze crept under the door at night. She strung garlands along the fireplace, hung baubles from each corner of her books shelves, looped the chain of bells over each door, and transfigured a few burnt matchsticks into some plain snowflakes that hovered around the ceiling. All that remained was to string a garland of twinkling lights over her window and then she decided, why not string them on the outside of her window, like her parents used to decorate her childhood home for Father Christmas. Hermione thought that her window would look nice if someone were to look up from the grounds and thus found herself leaning out of the fourth floor into the cold night air. Satisfied with her efforts, she closed the window against the chill and settled in front of the fire with a cup of tea and a good book. 

 

A memo appeared in the staff room that morning, asking that all staff go the extra mile this year to join in with the festivities, and of course, decorating the castle. Hermione was proud to have gotten an early start, sure that her lights would be appreciated by McGonagall and Sprout. She fell peacefully into her second favourite chair in the staff room and set about flicking through the day’s lesson plan. 

“Have you found the perfect Secret Santa yet?” asked Pomona from somewhere to her left. 

Hermione looked up at the deputy headmistress and shook her head. “Not exactly,” she sighed. After all, Snape was far from perfect. “I’m not exactly sure about what they like.”

“Well, you’ve got to get to know them then,” said Pomona, flopping into an armchair and resting her muddy boots against the grate. Hermione could smell fresh fertiliser and scrunched her nose. 

Get to know Snape, she thought. Where would she even begin? The man had spent so many years during the war making sure that nobody knew him. What chance did she have of breaking down a couple decades’ worth of paranoia? 

“I don’t think they want to get to know me like that,” she found herself admitting. Rather unusually, the declaration made her feel uneasy. She’d never had any desire to know Snape outside of being interested in his involvement in the war, and she’d been satisfied with Harry’s testimony to think she knew enough of that. 

Pomona scoffed and waved her concern away. “Ridiculous. Everybody wants to get to know you Hermione, now more than ever that you’ve become such a successful young woman. All we knew before you got here was the studious young lady who helped Harry Potter defeat The Dark Lord. Now, we want to get to know your favourite colour, dear. The nitty gritty boring stuff.”

Hermione laughed and idly scratched her cheek. It was nice to hear the deputy headmistress express those sentiments. It was a long time coming, but in recent years Hermione had been finding ways to admit to herself that she wanted to be more than the girl who helped Harry Potter win the war. Not that she wasn't proud of what she had done - of everything they had done - but she wanted to be proud of other things too. 

“It’s blue,” she told Sprout with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not that anyone cares, but I'm on the train to Dublin and it's 9am. This is an atrocity! Sleeping is the only thing I should be doing at 9am.**


	3. III

Get to know Snape. 

She couldn’t think where to begin her journey getting to know the older man. While she wandered the snowy grounds searching for rocks that her third years would be transfiguring next lesson, Hermione tried to compile a list of ways to coerce the grumpy Slytherin into holding a conversation for longer than three sentences. And preferably one that wasn’t laced with reminders of how irritating she had been as a student. 

He sometimes sat with McGonagall in the staffroom, but she was never sure of what they discussed, and it always seemed heated from the way one would glare at the others back while they retreated. She made a brief note to keep an eye on their next interaction. Flitwick was a potential candidate; just last week she had seen Snape coming out of the charms classroom. He hadn’t looked as grim as usual, and she could have sworn he was walking with a spring in his step as he rounded out of the corridor. 

“Hermione!” greeted Hagrid’s booming voice from across the lawn. 

She pocketed her stones and crossed to the snow-capped hut where he leaned against a wooden axe and was half hidden behind a thick wooly scarf. Hermione recognised the scarf immediately; she had knitted it for him two Christmas’ ago and was glad to see he was getting good wear from her shoddy attempts at domesticity. 

“What’re ye doin’ out in this weather?” he asked. “Ye’ll freeze half to death. Come on in for a cuppa.”

She gratefully accepted, only realising how cold she was when the warm fire at last toasted her chilled fingers, and she nestled a heavy mug of tea in her palms. Fang, aged and slow-moving now, ambled around her legs and slobbered the back of her hand. She flinched, never getting used to the dogs gross affections, and wiped the thick drool off her boot. Her gaze fell on a six pack of cherry syrup soda with what she thought was supposed to be a bow wrapped aimlessly around the bottles. 

“Sorry I can’t offer ye one,” said Hagrid having followed her gaze. “There for Professor Flitwick see. Picked his name from the hat fer Secret Santa. Did me best with the bow and all, but these shovels ain't made for artsy stuff.” He held up his oversized hands and they both laughed. 

At least she knew Hagrid hadn’t picked her name and that ruled out one person she could be suspicious of. “I’ve been thinking about my Secret Santa lately,” she told him, taking another sip of tea. “Any ideas of a good gift?”

“Depends on their personality I guess. What are they like?” he asked.

What was Snape like? She thought for a moment and the usual adjectives came to mind: irritating, cold, bastard. Not exactly the most inspiring list around, but it was what she knew. Since her arrival at Hogwarts he’d been every one of those things towards her. Cold in his sharp replies when she attempted to engage in conversation, irritating in his sarcastic manner and how he always seemed to look down that long nose of his, and bastard because he had been since she was eleven. 

Hermione felt her eyes narrow at the thoughts of the Defence professor and how even now he was causing her problems. She half wished she had plucked McFarlan’s name from the hat instead. 

“They don’t have specific tastes,” she settled on saying, knowing her irritation would best her if she didn’t stop brooding and would let slip that Snape was her Secret Santa.

“Everyone’s got tastes, Hermione, even ole Fang here,” said Hagrid, patting the old dog’s head. “Why yesterday he decided chewing socks wasn’t he’s thing, so moved on to chewing my boots.” She rose an eyebrow at Hagrid and he shook his head. “What I’m sayin’ is ye just have to get to know um, see. Ask around about um, or keep a close eye.”

“You mean stalk them?” she smiled, draining her cup. 

“I mean you figured out a lot more difficult things when you was a student here,” he teased, reaching into the oven to pull out some rock cakes and pushed them towards her. “Take these for later. An’ don’t let a little detective work put ye off - it never stopped ye as a student here, am I right?”

When Hagrid opened the door to see her out of his home, a tiny huddle of students met them on the wooden steps. Slytherins, she noted, and couldn’t help being immediately suspicious. They were three thin faced boys - a third year named Kellen Holmes and two sixth years, Lewis Rosier and Davis Rowle - who looked none too excitedly from over their thick house scarves. Hermione knew the Holmes boy to be rough around the edges, as she had often seen him sitting detention with various professors. The other two were quiet from what she knew, but it was always the quiet ones she thought. Hagrid didn’t seem phased by their sudden presence and he greeted them fondly.

“Jus’ in time boys,” he boomed, ushering them down the steps toward the pile of wood he’d been chopping before she came along. “Mind you tell Professor Snape they’ll be damp from the snow so won’t catch as quick. A bitta warmth will dry um up quick enough though.”

Hermione watched, unsure of whether to leave or hang around in case there was trouble. A part of her admitted to being interested. She watched her friend lead the boys to the pile of wood he had been chopping, and together they heaped each log into three separate bags. 

She wanted to ask Hagrid what exactly was happening, but felt it none of her business for some reason. When the bags had been filled, each boy hoisted one each over their shoulders and bid Hagrid farewell, trudging back to the castle. Their hunched figures were slowly moving along the snow capped grounds and she was half tempted to levitate the bags for them, but thought better of it when Hagrid came to stand beside her.

“It used to be three Gryffindor’s would hang around my hut all them years back,” he told her with a fond smile. “Now I’ve three Slytherin’s calling around. Who’d have thought? Happy present hunting Hermione.”

He ambled back inside, whistling a tune, and she followed the footprints of the three black-cloaked students back to the warmth of the castle. “Professor Granger, if you have a moment please?” 

Hermione did a quick look around but there was no escape. The entrance hall was empty. Not a soul to be found or a rule breaking student to feign busy with. Uttering beneath her breath, she turned to force a smile at Professor Ewan McFarlen. 

“How can I help Professor?” she asked, immediately annoyed with how his perfect teeth glistened through a thick grin. _Definitely some dental charm_. He wore his hair in a flawless side fringe, with neatly groomed sideburns, and a well-trimmed flaming red beard. 

He produced a slip of paper from his robe and held it to her face with a satisfied smile. She eyed it with contempt, wanting to set fire to it and hope it singed his - no doubt perfectly manicured - fingers. “The Headmistress posted this on the noticeboard,” he said, unfolding it with a thick smile. “The dates for the next three Hogsmeade trips. Two professors will chaperone each week and I was thinking you and I, as fellow Gryffindor’s that is, might be suited to take a shift?”

Hermione blanked; it was all she could do to stop herself from reacting. _Shit, shit._ Her usually keen mind had gone into overdrive as an array of potential excuses whirred by; they moved much too quick for her to pick one and use it as her get out of jail card.. She was sure his intentions were everything but professional, and though she’d been single for some time, had zero intentions of chancing her arm with the new potions professor.

“Oh. I forgot about that. You see…” She glanced around the hall, praying that someone would rescue her from the moment. It was madness but… “I’ve actually agreed to chaperone with Professor Snape,” she blurted, her eyes catching the stairs to the dungeons. She could have dug a hole and buried herself right there after her lips stopped moving. “Inter-house relations you know. I must run, Professor. Have a good evening.”

She hurried - more like scuttled - up the flight of stairs, cringing the entire way as she felt his eyes follow her movements. Talk about jumping from the frying pan and straight into the fire. She scolded her rash words as she followed the path to her rooms, knowing well she had not only told a bare-faced lie - though it was purely innocent - now there was also a good chance Snape would find out and probably skin her alive.

The snarky Slytherin was forever causing her problems.

**

By the following morning, having slept somewhat restlessly on her predicament, Hermione deduced that lying would grant her two favours. Firstly, she didn’t have to spend the day making awkward conversation with McFarlen, and finally per Hagrid’s indirect advice, she could get to know Snape better. He was sure to be furious when he found out of course, but she had hoped to corner him in the staffroom near Minerva when the news broke.

Her luck seemed to be in - or it could be argued otherwise - when she arrived at the staffroom that morning before breakfast, and Minerva was sitting next to Snape in their usual seats. The headmistress was reading from a sheet of parchment, following a list it seemed from the way her finger descended the page, and his top lip was curling further above his teeth with every syllable McGonagall uttered.. She was tempted to do a 180 and head straight to the great hall for breakfast but refused to be run out of the staffroom like a little girl all over again. 

“Morning,” she chirped, grabbing a cup of tea and sitting opposite them both. She felt his eyes immediately on her but the Headmistress saved her from having to look up. 

“Good timing, Hermione,” said Minerva with a chirp of her own and she slid the list across the table. “You’re taking this weekends shift to Hogsmeade with Severus. He sportingly agreed when I asked this morning and I assume you won’t object?”

Hermione shook her head over the mug of tea, eyes flicking to Snape’s which bore back at her with what seemed a daring growl. He was clearly unimpressed with the news and looked as if she uttered one word to him that the mug of tea would be sent through the air. She wasn’t entirely delighted with the news either, she wanted to tell him, but it was every man for himself at this stage. She’d picked his name from the hat six days ago and had come no closer to finding a suitable gift. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Then it’s settled. Have a good day professors,” said Minerva, rising from the seat with her cup and parchment, and left them to stare each other down. 

Hermione’s gaze settled on the rim of her mug. From the small distance that separated them, his breathing was steady as always, and he sat upright in his chair, seemingly determined to outmatch her. She found herself irritated as usual by this. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she clucked, putting her cup down to hold his look. _Irritating man._

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t think for a second I’m entertaining this day out, Ms. Granger,” he said through clenched teeth. “Short, sweet, and to the point is how I like to chaperone these trips.” He rose in a flurry of black robes and followed Minerva’s trail out of the staffroom.

“Sounds funs,” she muttered after him, rolling her eyes and nearly wishing she’d taken McFarlen up on his offer.


	4. Tea

Friday came and went too quick. 

Saturday arrived with a stomach full of nerves and she found herself taking the longest route possible to meet Snape at the entrance hall. Maybe this was a mistake she argued for the second time since stopping to look at a painting that held zero of her interests. _Stalling. That’s what you’re doing._ She abandoned the painting as if to prove she was in fact not stalling and found herself almost _sneaking_ down the grand staircase, just in case he should hear her coming. It was a ridiculous notion that she couldn’t explain but allowed herself the fleeting thought of sneaking up on the old bastard for a change. 

The chatter of excited teenagers met her when she rounded off the staircase and the deputy headmistress stood at the large front doors, checking names off a list as she filed students out in small groups and pairs. It reminded her vaguely of her time at Hogwarts, when McGonagall would usher them out and into what they felt was freedom for a few hours. She was nearly excited herself when a group of third years passed almost bouncing on their toes as Professor Sprout cleared them to leave. 

“Ah, Professor Granger,” greeted Sprout waving her over through the crowd. Hermione slid between the students and nodded at the deputy. “Professor Snape is outside with the third years. Filius and Hagrid have gone ahead.”

“It’ll be nice to get off the grounds for a bit. I’ve had a taste for butterbeer from Rosmerta’s,” she said, trying to recall how the warm caramel froth tasted. 

“Don’t let that one dissuade you,” Sprout pointed with a flick of her chin towards the castle doors. Hermione knew she meant Snape and grinned. “He’s more fond of a quick tipple during duty days than he’ll let on.”

She snorted and thanked Pomona, then followed the crowd into the courtyard. Older students dispersed themselves from the ground, knowing the route well and sure to be compiling lists of jokes and gags to bring back and terrorize Filch with. Beside the fountain, Snape stood peering down his nose at the band of third years. He wasn’t wearing his teaching robes she noted, instead donned a charcoal woollen coat that fell to the back of his thighs and cut a high collar. A casual black scarf adorned his neck and his usual dark pants and boots were the same. She couldn’t help wonder what he wore beneath the coat. He looked annoyed at being paired off with the third years - _He always looks annoyed, remember?_ \- but they showed his sour mood no mind, too excited at finally getting to visit the legendary wizarding village. None dared talk too loudly though and he didn’t acknowledge her presence when she arrived, merely turning on the spot and walking ahead. 

_Rude._ Predictable, she also admitted, but still _rude._

Hermione waved the group after him with a sigh and stuck her hands deep inside her pockets. So much for getting to know him, she thought; if he carried on like this for the evening she’d know his backside better than his face. She gasped at the thought which had flitted into her mind so quick there was no time to filter it out. Thoroughly annoyed with herself now, she told the Holmes boy from Slytherin to stop dawdling and move along. The walk to the village was refreshing despite the company and she enjoyed the breath of cool air as they plodded down the slippery hill. 

They traipsed through Hogsmeade station and Snape halted beneath the archway which read 'Hogsmeade'. “You are to wander no further than the gate at the end of the village. Be aware that trips to Hogsmeade are a privilege and not a right. They can and will and have been revoked at the first indication of trouble,” said Snape slowly, carefully, managing to meet each and every set of eyes that stared back. He paused to make particular eye contact with a student Hermione couldn’t make out from behind. “As this is your first trip to Hogsmeade, we will meet back here in two hours and return to the castle. Have I made myself clear?”

A chorus of ‘yes sir's' echoed. Then a hand shot into the air and a curly haired girl asked, “How will we know we’ve reached the gate, sir?” Hermione flinched instinctively, expecting the crude reply that hissed from between Snape’s crooked teeth and just stopping herself from intervening. 

“It will be square and wooden and look like a gate,” he hissed to the delight of a few other students who smiled amongst themselves. Hermione knew the girl - Anne Forest, Ravenclaw; she was a thin girl with glasses, brilliant at transfiguration but socially inept at times. 

“Go,” was the strict order and the crowd of third years walked stiffly around Snape before erupting into a quick walk that quickly became a gaggle of excited chatter the further away they got. Hermione glowered at the side of Snape’s face while he stared after them. His dark eyes didn’t move from any one spot but she knew he was aware of her looking. A quick narrowing of his eyes in her direction and he stalked toward the long street that made up the main village. 

“It was a fair question,” she blurted having followed him to a window where he stopped to look. 

“It was a pointless question as Filius had already explained the rules to his students before leaving,” he countered, deciding the window held nothing of interest and moved onto the next. 

“Perhaps she misunderstood and needed clarification,” she snipped through clenched teeth, digging her hands into her pockets again and glaring at the window full of quills and scrolls. She was going to run out of red ink soon and made a mental inventory to pick some up during the holidays. 

“Rubbish,” he bit back, moving across the street to a bookshop and wiped some snow from the window to peer in. “Ms Forest is an exceptionally bright student, eager to learn, eager to please, but pitifully plays stupid to mask that intelligence.”

Hermione glared at him from above her thick scarf. “Then perhaps her tutors should be teaching her to direct that negativity in more positive ways.”

“I’ll make Filius aware of your suggestions,” he said, continuing to scan the window. She reminded herself why she had even agreed to come here with him, though was _very_ tempted to gift him a wooden spoon to dig out that stick he had clearly shoved up his arse. 

“I’ll make him aware myself, thank you,” she retorted, following his gaze to a set of small books with dusty jackets and dog-eared corners. He was a reader, she knew this already, having crossed his path in the library more than once this year. 

“Tea, Granger,” he said, turning away from the window to look at her for the first time since leaving Hogwarts. His breath came in white ripples - it was cold she noted - and his cheeks were pinched looking - admittedly her cheeks too felt quite cold - and his hands were also mimicking her position, dug deep into the pockets of that woollen winter coat. 

He betrayed no further explanation and she looked back, confused. “Tea?” 

“Tea,” he reiterated, looking annoyed. Flicking his jaw down the street he said, “It may have escaped your notice but it is December and we are in the Scottish mountains. It is cold and probably going to snow again. I have little desire to stand in this village and freeze my balls off.”

She gawked. Damn nearly shook at his choice of words and blurted without meaning to, “I don’t fancy freezing my tits off either. Tea would be lovely.” Hermione could have sworn he was going to smile from the way his lips twitched but he replied neutrally that The Three Broomsticks would be suitable and turned his back again to walk away. 

She followed him, still pooling over what he had said and was surprised to find a laugh building in her chest. Harry and Ron would never believe her if she told them; in fact, who would? Snape isn’t known for his sense of humour, but he had clearly been hiding one beneath all those robes. She made a childish point of noting to herself that he should leave the robes at home more often if he was this hilarious without them. 

Almost colliding with his back when he halted at the door to the pub - something she realised he would not be impressed with despite her equal ability to use such provocative language - she peered around his shoulder to see Madam Rosmerta beating heaps of snow off the step. “I wondered when you’d show your face again,” the barmaid said, brushing aggressively at a stubborn patch of ice. Hermione froze, unable to read the expression on the barmaid’s face. She was momentarily reminded of the war and just how ruined Snape’s reputation would have been amongst the villagers at Hogsmeade. Suddenly anxious, she made to step out from behind him, not sure what sort of heroic speech she would deliver in his name but found herself wanting to say something. 

“That last beating wasn’t enough for you, Snape?” the wild-haired barmaid carried on. “I thought my boys had sent you running for good. Seems not.”

Hermione made to open her mouth and intervene crossly, but Snape beat her to the bullet and surprisingly, chuckled. “You know better than anyone I can never stray too far from a good thing.”

Rosmerta laughed and stopped sweeping, leaning against the handle of the broom and tucking her free hand into the pocket of her apron. A set of keys jingled. “The Saturday before Christmas,” she said. “The Hogshead is coming over around nine and it promises to be a riot.”

“I’ll let you know,” he said and Hermione thought he sounded genuine, maybe even _fond_ for a moment. 

Rosmerta stepped back to let him through, finally spotting her hidden behind his broad shoulder and greeted her with a wide smile which she returned. “Tables free under the stairs. There’s a new waiter mind, and he’s already broken a payslips worth of glasses so you’re best to order at the bar. I’ll be in shortly.”

Snape thanked her and led the way through the noisy pub, cutting a fine path through the chattering students who had all made a show of quieting significantly upon the appearance of their two professors. Hermione cast a few smiles around the pub but Severus continued to cut a sharp route to a small rounded table just beneath the stairs out of direct view of the majority of the pub. 

He nodded to the table and headed for the bar, leaving her to slide into the seat closest to the roof of the slanting stairs above them. She reckoned he would need more headroom or maybe she didn’t want to be ogled at by students. Uncurling her thick scarf, she shook it out and slung it over the chair, followed by her heavy red winter coat, and fluffed her curls into a manageable side swoop. 

She had him where she needed. God, that sounded terrifying, she realised, shaking the thought and opting to run through conversational topics. This was the most civil he had been all year and she never thought she’d jump to having tea with him so fast. Ginny would laugh and she made a point to call to the Potter’s soon. She also wandered briefly of their youngest son's namesake - Albus Severus - and just how Snape actually felt about that. It was a conversation she had only ever had very briefly with Harry, thinking it none of her business who they name their children after, but also understanding why the choice.

 

“Tea,” was the announcement that he had returned, two cups balanced and he set them on the rickety little table. She thanked him and blew over the rim of hers, her insides screaming to abandon ship because this was the most awkward situation she had ever put herself into. Sipping hers quietly, she found it tasted strong and malty. A fleeting thought of poison crossed her mind and she glanced over to him. He seemed content to drink his and as if reading her thoughts he looked up from his cup. 

“It’s brandy,” he announced unashamedly. “Unless you’re a pioneer?” She could feel his questioning look over the rim of his own cup. 

“I’m not, but my dad was,” she told him, not really knowing why she was telling him or how he knew of the term. Snape nodded in response and she realised it wasn’t a dismissal when he put his tea down and looked at her to continue. Hermione had never spoken about her parents to anyone at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron knew, of course, they knew everything really, and Ginny too. “He was from Ireland,” she surprised herself by talking. “Born in the west and left for England to study dentistry. Bit of a family tradition, being a dentist that is. I was the first to break the mould.”

He nodded, taking another sip of tea and glancing around the pub. Students bustled in and out, some stopped to chat and left the door ajar enough for snow to sweep in from the street. Madam Rosmerta bustled them out with her brush and from somewhere behind the bar a glass broke. Her dad had been brilliant, kind and caring, and she was a complete daddy’s girl. Swallowing thickly, she took a loud sup of tea to distract her thoughts and turned back to look at him. He was sipping from his cup again, not looking at her but not entirely standing her up either. She realised he was allowing her room to talk if she wished, but she didn’t and she told him so. 

“I prefer not to talk about it,” she said, hoping her voice was steady. 

He drained his cup and moved it to the centre of the table. “One of my students is struggling across the board - Kellen Holmes,” he told her bluntly. She blinked at the sharp change in topic and then nodded her knowledge of the third year Slytherin she had seen collecting wood at Hagrid’s cabin. “I’ve noticed his transfiguration results are just scraping by and he’s serving detention Tuesday night. I’m on duty that evening so haven’t got time to supervise. I think it would benefit him if you had transfiguration work that needed completing. I’m sure he’d be delighted to assist.”

Hermione almost choked on her tea, glad the cup suppressed her threatening smile as she was sure it wasn’t appropriate to laugh at her students' misconducts. Swallowing the laugh she nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve got rocks that need turning into pebbles for my second years - forty of them actually - and I’m sure it would keep him busy.”

Snape nodded and looked as if he were going to say something else but thought better and looked to the door. “The Shrieking Shack is a popular spot for trouble this time of year,” he told her, shrugging his coat back on. She followed suit, letting him lead the way out. “Minerva insists we triple check it’s surrounding. Something about poltergeist activity and snowballs.” Stepping into the snow, she could have sworn she heard him smile and she followed him, questioning aloud what he meant but being pointedly ignored, though she knew exactly what he was referring to. 

*****  

That evening after dinner, while she toasted her cold feet by the fire, Hermione was surprised to find herself having enjoyed being in Snape’s company. He hadn’t looked sideways at her while they plodded through the heavy snow back to the castle, third years in tow and all exhausted, but he’d been far kinder to her that evening than he had been all year. Afterwards, curling into bed around an ageing Crookshanks, she thought briefly of his remark about being cold and exactly which of his appendages were suffering in those extreme temperatures, and she blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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